Words of Reassurance
by Punzie the Platypus
Summary: Companion-piece to 'Hands of Reassurance.' Mid-S6, EP 1. Donna is still unconscious after her emergency pulmonary embolism surgery in the German Hospital. Josh talks to himself, to God, and to her in the anxious moments waiting for her to hopefully wake up. He never leaves her side. 'There could never be another woman for him, as long as Donna Moss had a heartbeat.' Josh/Donna


**_Soli Deo gloria_**

**DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The West Wing. Or One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.**

**We're taking a break in my previously scheduled NaNoWriMo writing (which is coming along quite nicely, yesterday notwithstanding) to bring along another West Wing fic, as I just finished S6 EP1 and I have all the feels. Like, for realsies (JoshlovesDonnasomuchICAN'T). I see this fic as a parallel to Hands of Reassurance; I did not imagine when I wrote that fic that I'd write another fic where the roles were basically reversed, _but here we are!_**

Josh was glad one of them had a steady heartbeat. Her heart monitor beeped and he wished his could sync with hers as he sat by her hospital bedside. The alarm of the breaking news of Middle East negotiations with America and Israel had faded; if he was back home in the White House, he'd have a direct influence over the President and the decisions affecting his entire country right now. He would've been in the thick of international Middle East and West negotiations; he wanted the President to shoot missiles at everyone. He didn't care who. He just wanted someone to pay for the pain and injury marking Donna Moss's fragile body right now.

But it was good that he wasn't there—better that he was here, instead.

His heartbeat slowed to a more even pace as he inhaled deeply and laid his chin against her propped up pillow. His thumb subconsciously reached out to stroke the blonde hair against her temple. He was glad he was here; no amount of bartering for destruction in Gaza could soothe his riled nerves and hurt heart as much as being here with her could.

It'd been twenty-three hours since her emergency surgery. The only thing he liked having Colin around for was to keep guard while he got some fitful hours of sleep. They were an odd pair, her boss and her Irish liaison from Gaza. Josh never thought when he showed up here that she would have someone else coming for her. Her mother was assumed, of course; she was at the airport right now, coming in on a German cab; Colin was downstairs waiting for her right now. But he . . . he just never thought Donna would have another _guy_—someone that wasn't _him_.

And that was unfair to her. Of course, she could have any guy she wanted. Josh could poke jokes at her for dating losers who went nowhere all he wanted, but between the two of them, she had the smarter instincts and the more level head. She made good choices, even if they weren't ones he liked. He had to admit that. She wasn't his; she could do what she wanted.

Josh could deny romantic feelings for Donna all he wanted; but, at the end of the day, he wasn't sure he left Joey Lucas and Leo and Sam quite convinced. It was like everyone else was like, 'Sure, of course, Josh,' just to get him to shut up, and in the end, _he _was the one he was trying to convince.

He wasn't as quite as good an arbiter as he tried to convince himself he was.

Well, he didn't care. She could go and marry Colin and have cute blonde Irish babies for all he cared; he just wanted her to wake up and be Donna. He just wanted her to be okay.

Well, that wasn't quite true. The whole 'being okay if she married Colin' part, anyway. He stood up and paced around the room, back-and-forthing between running his hands through his hair and glancing back at her. He hadn't rented a hotel room the past three days he was in Germany. He barely left this hospital room, barely left her side. His clothes showed three days' worth of wrinkles; his face, especially his eyes, of three days of disturbed sleep.

"Is this supposed to be funny?" he said softly. He paced, agitated, his hands on his hips, and then looked up, past the ceiling. "Seriously, is this supposed to be funny? She and I switched sides, like we're tag-teaming or something? This is Rosslyn all over again. A punctured lung, just like me. A pulmonary embolism . . . just like my dad. This isn't funny.

"She didn't take this job for all this; she took it to make a difference. She was supposed to be a regular, ordinary old government employee. She just wanted to move on up. Well, she moved on up onto a CODEL, which _I _put her on, and look! Look where that got her! She just wanted to see the world outside of her office and she got frigging blown up for it!"

He looked fiercely up. Despite having a Jewish heritage, Josh wasn't up for God much. Until now. He could ignore Him all he wanted, until he was staring another death in the face. "You take Joanie, You take Dad—You even take Mrs. Landingham just for kicks, and now You want to take Donna too?! You should've taken me. I would it rather be me in that bed right now instead of her!"

He sat roughly down, suddenly deflated. "All this killing, the bus, the apartment building, the fence . . . Where does it end?" He looked at Donna and felt torn between being relieved by her steady breaths and pained by her still unconscious face and said, "It better not end here. It can't." He gently wrapped his hands around hers, holding them like they were delicate china, like he didn't want to hurt her anymore. "Don't take Donna. Don't take her. I _need _her." He closed his eyes and said, _"Please."_

He was startled out of his thoughts and prayers by his cellphone ringing. Inhaling, shaking himself a little so he could be a little normal on the phone, he picked up. "Josh Lyman."

"Hey, it's Toby. How's Donna?"

Josh inhaled. "Still breathing. Still unconscious."

"That's not . . . terrible."

"Could be better."

"I'm sorry, Josh. Keep us posted. Keep it up."

A pat on the back from over four thousand miles away. An exhale. "Thanks, Toby. Hey, any further news with the Summit?"

"We have agreed to legitimately have the Chairman over to Camp David if he delivers Nasan over to our FBI agents in Gaza."

"That's a tall order for a guy who likes all the pretense of doing something without actually doing it to deliver." Josh leaned back in his chair; then he caught the eye of the stern nurse, who made a direct beeline to Donna's room. "Okay, gotta go. About to get murdered by a medical professional." He pocketed his cellphone and stuck his hands under his armpits, looking decidedly _not _innocent as the nurse entered the room.

"This is a warning: next time, there won't be a next time," Nurse Ratched said sternly.

"Yes ma'am." Josh knew tacking on, "Did I mention that I'm a United States White House Official and need to keep updated on the political chaos my country is embroiled in?" wouldn't earn him any gold stars. He opted for a plastered-on smile instead, which, while not entirely convincing the nurse, did its job and got her out of Donna's room.

His attention was immediately diverted as Donna stirred in her sleep. Just a little; a grimace against her cut face, a little movement behind her badly bruised eyelids. He leaned over her, watching her every movement for any sign of waking. When she settled, he didn't feel as disappointed as he thought he would be. Stirring was good. Not the best, but good.

"Donna," he said, holding both of her delicate hands in his, soft and reassuring, "I need you to wake up. Not for me. Don't do it for me. Do it for you, for Donnatella Moss. For all the things you haven't done yet in the world. For all the things you haven't yet seen. For all the people who haven't gotten the tremendous honor of meeting you, of talking with you, of getting to be understood by you. There are a million things you have left to do. A million lives for you to influence, to touch, even for just a minute. You can touch people in ways we in government often forget to. There are people who have yet to experience your kindness, your brilliance, your seriously underestimated level of sarcasm and wit . . ." He looked up at her eyes. She couldn't see him. She probably couldn't hear him. How he wished he knew to what extent her brain was touched by the blood clot and surgery. How he wished she could wake up and how he wished Colin wasn't there for her like _he _wanted to be there for her.

"I was a little wrong there. Let me be a little selfish." He leaned forward and whispered against her ear, "Wake up for me, Donna. Please." He _wanted _to say those three words out loud, but then, he couldn't. Not when Colin existed; he couldn't just _ignore_ her choice, _her _choice. But . . . he also wanted her to be awake, to look at him, when he told her those three words. So his lips said, "I love you, Donna Moss," while his voice said nothing.

He leaned back from her face and stroked her hair again, pressing his lips together.

What if she died? What if she suffered brain damage and was a ghost of the former Donna Moss, the persistent light in his life who stuck by his side no matter how much crap he threw at her? He'd been taking her for granted for far too long, and he was struck to his very core at the idea of her no longer being right there with him.

If Donnatella Moss, the woman he loved, died, he wouldn't know what to do. He didn't know how to live after that.

"Come back to me, Donna. I believe in you. You can do it. You will be okay." He pressed a long, lingering kiss against her forehead, touched the side of her face again. "Don't be scared. You'll be okay."

He just sat back down beside her and looked at her for a minute when movement at the door caught his eye. He sat up a little straighter as Mrs. Moss and Colin hurried into the room. He reconstructed his face to betray nothing as he watched a devastated mother anxiously touch her daughter's cut cheek. Met Colin's grim eyes across the hospital bed as Mrs. Moss's soft whimpering and whispered reassurances drowned out the speed-talking news anchors yakking from the mounted television in the corner.

It was going to be a long next hour. A long next day. But they'd wait it out. Each traveled from far away at the drop of a hat to be at Donna's side. Now it was just a matter of who would outlast the other. And Josh knew, even as he knew it would damn himself if she picked Colin, what the outcome would be. There could never be another woman for him, as long as Donna Moss had a heartbeat.

**The parallels between what happened to Josh and what happened to Donna, and what I wrote in my other fanfic and now in this one, have not been lost on me. Also, between Josh and the President after Mrs. Landingham's funeral. They're a writer's goldmine. They're a shipper's bread-and-butter. I'm eating it all up.**

**Thanks for reading! Review?**


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